


Evasive Maneuvers

by goodnightfern



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Apologies to Michael Durant, FOXHOUND days, Hellmaster Miller in full force, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Other, References to Torture, Sexual Frustration, authentic japanese dining experience, but not in the way he wants, david is completely fucked, endless thirst, fondue date buildup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 17:21:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12089739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnightfern/pseuds/goodnightfern
Summary: David's going to learn exactly why they call him the Hellmaster.





	Evasive Maneuvers

**Author's Note:**

> just shameless hellmaster thirst garbage i wrote in a day inspired by reading random threads about SERE training and the aforementioned _endless shameless hellmaster thirst_
> 
> it goes without saying this would be a severely different fic from kaz's perspective.

David wakes up to a giant wolf-dog licking his face and he’s almost relieved.

Seven days now he’s evaded the enemy and his hounds. A week of trudging over thin ice, trying to stave off hypothermia and frostbite without making a fire, subsisting on lichen and pine bark because everything else is in hibernation or under snow and he can’t even fish beneath the ice because that would leave a trace.

Among other things the dogs are trained to identify and track is the smell of cigarettes. He stopped fiending on day three, but he’s still pretty sure he’s about to die.

He sighs and rolls over. Plays dead. The wolfdog takes his neck between his jaws - a playful move, one he definitely isn’t supposed to do. He’s heard they use basset hounds at the other SERE training camps, the Green Berets used German Shepherds, but David loves that the wolfhounds are true hunters. There’s nothing domestic about FOXHOUND. He tussles with the wolf for a moment before the dog remembers its training, starts to howl, and the “survive and evade” portion of this exercise is officially over.

A bag is shortly thrown over his head.

The body that drags him is too distinct. David has watched the Hellmaster enough to know exactly how his body shifts, the years he must have spent compensating permanently altering his spine and hips. Even fully gloved and shrouded against the cold, he can feel the difference between hands.

Yeah, the resist and escape part is going to be much, much harder.

By the time David is bound and tied up in a windowless room he’s already getting a little… excited. He can’t see much of the Hellmaster, bundled up as he is in an old Soviet officer’s uniform with a scarf hiding most of his face, but even beneath the layers he’s unmistakeable. He’s questioning David in the worst fake Russian accent ever. David knows what he’s supposed to say. Name, rank, serial number, sure.

But Master Miller says being captured by the enemy is a prime time to gather intel. Master Miller says, keep them nearby and keep yourself alive by doling out small, unimportant things. Last known GPS locations of things already on the move, mispronounced names, numbers of vehicles in units dispatched far away. By the time they’ve realized what you gave them useless you’ve already analyzed their weaknesses. Escaped your bonds and infiltrated their base and made off with your target without getting injuries or a maiming or trauma that would otherwise break you. Sounds about right.

You don't know how long it'll be till someone comes for you. Or if there even will be anyone at all.

FOXHOUND isn’t a place for canon fodder jarhead punks, as Master Miller says. Every recruit likes to think they’re immune to pain. But the human brain is still the human brain. Bodies will react. Anyone can die.

It’s a lesson Master Miller must have learned the hard way. Not that anyone knows for sure, but it's easy enough to guess how he lost his limbs when he talks about being held prisoner like he's had some experience.

This kind of torture, though, is so not the point of the exercise.

David’s literally tied up and on his knees. Adrenaline rushing in his veins and Master Miller looming over him. More like his Tuesday night masturbation fantasy.

He opens his mouth, trying to keep with the exercise, but the first thing that comes out is embarrassingly breathy and wordless.

And _there's_ his boner. Out and proud.

"Jesus, Solid." The Hellmaster tugs off his hood, letting his hair spill free. "You got some real issues, kid."

“Sir, I’m - “

"What’s that, some kind of a torture fetish?" Dave can't tell if it's fear or hatred but it's dripping, thick and rancid in his voice. Not that, anything but that. He’s been conditioned to respond to that voice, and that level of disdain is a knife in the gut.

"Sir, the immersion was lacking. I could tell it was you."

Master Miller's arm twitches.

David has never seen him speechless, but he did just kind of admit his crush.

It's not his fault if the man is too goddamn hot. The hard lines of his body, when he's soaked with rain on the training field. The technological wonder of his replacement limbs and the fact that he's strong enough without them, as many an unfortunate recruit has discovered. The strange softness that leaks out when he's praising a dog. The quiet reverence for nature evident when he points out edible mushrooms.

Just the thought of taking off his aviators is enough to get David going. It’s horrible. Like he’s some poor Victorian dying for a glimpse of ankle.

Miller sighs and unwinds his scarf. His mouth is a set line, and David can’t read anything, not even when he comes down on one knee to look him in the eye.

“You ever heard of Michael Durant?”

“Who?” Typical Hellmaster behavior, right. It’s the worst time for a tangent and the more he talks the harder David gets.

“Nah, of course not. Airborne, special ops. Night Stalkers, that was his unit. Completed his SERE training at Fort Bragg. Got a chance to use that education only last year, in Somalia. You know what he did?”

“What?”

“Bonded with his captors. Used his sense of humor. Made them laugh, created camaraderie. Reminded them that they were all just humans, in the end. Released in eleven days.” A gloved hand snaps out. Touches his jaw. Makes David freeze when the thumb passes over his lips. “You gonna use your mouth, too?”

_Yes._

Yes, yes, yes. David is still bound, there’s not much he can do, but he can take that thumb and sweep his tongue around it. Draw it into his mouth, tug at the glove with his teeth. Master Miller’s fatigues are so baggy he can’t tell what’s going on there, but David knows damn well how good he looks like this. He knows damn well how good he is at sucking cock, too, and in a minute here the Hellmaster is going to fuck his throat and come on his face.

No, David decides, pulling each finger free with his teeth. He’ll go slow. David wants to draw this out, show his Master just how far he’s willing to for him. How well he’s trained David, how good David can be. Fuck, David’s mouth is already watering and he hasn’t even touched the Hellmaster’s skin yet -

He should have seen the slap coming.

It’s his bionic hand. Strong enough to send him reeling, force him back on his heels.

The first time he’d trained with the Hellmaster himself had ended with the Master’s boot grinding down between his shoulderblades while David ate mud. For a brief moment David found himself wondering if he was truly ready for FOXHOUND. Felt shame at his audacity, that he’d thought he could show up at a unit run by Big Boss himself and just flip the survival instructor like that.

That was nothing.

David is lower than whale shit.

“Torture takes many forms, Solid,” the Hellmaster says, voice low and roughened just enough to let David know that he made some kind of an impression, at least. “In some situations even pleasure, wielded correctly, can be more effective than a bamboo manicure. In my life I’ve learned a lot of very bad things from a lot of very bad men. You don’t ever want to put yourself in this position again. Not with me.”

It’s freezing in the cell. Wind has picked up, a promise of a storm.

Then the Hellmaster straightens to his feet. Grins, baring his teeth. “Lucky for you, I’m a professional. Get yourself out of those ropes, Solid. C’mon, they’re not that tight. I’m calling it a day with the exercise. Weather’s going to turn soon, and then you’ll be truly fucked.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have approximately three hours to build a shelter. Wait out the storm. And then you’re gonna run twenty miles back to base.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Hellmaster turns to leave. Pauses before he reaches the door. “And Solid? Don’t let an old man like me tell you what to do with your dick. But I’ve heard enough rumors about you. You don’t want to lose respect among your comrades.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I’ve heard plenty of rumors about you.”

David is still tied up, so he can’t exactly slap his hand over his mouth.

The Hellmaster turns, and there’s a reaction. A quivering at his lips. David’s about to get his shit wrecked and not in the way he wants, but.

It’s true. He’s heard a lot of rumors about Master fucking Miller. That he didn’t exactly sleep his way to the top, but he’s been keeping Big Boss’s cock warm since the seventies. That he’s probably fucking Revolver Ocelot - David doesn’t like to think about that one. That he’s got a wife off base but it doesn’t stop him from letting every officer in FOXHOUND have a taste.

Always wearing his tight tank tops, showing off. The way he tosses his head whenever he takes down his ponytail like a goddamn porn star. No, the Hellmaster doesn’t get to fucking judge him for liking sex.

“There’s no way you didn’t know. All that CQC practice, hah. You knew exactly what was going to happen.”

“I knew about your little crush,” the Hellmaster drawls. “But like I said. I’m a professional. And I’m going to do my job regardless.” He’s grinning, now, the old fucker. “That’s what a soldier does. That’s what a FOXHOUND operative does.”

The Hellmaster puts his hood and scarf back on, and leaves the interrogation room whistling.

David’s never been more turned on in his life.

 

 

 

David expects that all his one-on-one training with the Hellmaster is going to end, but it’s as if the incident never happened. He’s still got a borrowed copy of Muir’s _Travels in Alaska_ \- lessons in on-site procurement, the Hellmaster said.

It made David want to disappear into the wilderness and just, like, melt into a glacier. It made David want to grab one of the wolfdogs and run under the stars. To catch fish with his bare hands and live not as animal, but as the truest form of man, and maybe, just maybe he’d thought Miller might be that kind of guy, too. That they were something more than what the military shaped them to be. He's treasured the worn paperback, kept it with him on long survival expeditions on the Kenai peninsula.

He doesn’t ever plan on giving Master Miller his fucking book back.

And the Hellmaster doesn’t care. Acts like nothing has changed in the rapport they’ve built. Slaps him on the shoulder and kicks his ass around the training field. Still pulls stunts like this current bullshit.

“Come on, Dave. When an old man offers to take you out for a nice meal, you say thank you.”

Right. Just taking a young recruit out for some good old fatherly advice sessions. “Are we going to talk about this?” Miller’s already given him the lecture about calling him sir when they’re off-base. No, right now they’re just friends, Army buddies, good old boys out for a night on the town in Seward.

“I’ve been waiting. You decide on what you want to eat yet?”

“No, I mean -”

“Huh.” Miller pauses at a stop sign to look at a little place across the road from a processing plant. “That’s new. Guess we are in a port town."

“What, Japanese food?” David squints at the dingy yellow and red neon sign. “Isn’t that just raw fish?”

“Rice, too.”

“Let’s go there.”

Miller frowns. “You want to eat raw fish? Hell, you’ve really taken to my ice-fishing lessons, haven’t you?”

“I don’t know. It’s something new. Either that or burgers.”

“It’s your call.”

David really just wants to get this over with.

The restaurant is small, but at least it’s warm. An elderly woman bows to them, smiling, and the Hellmaster actually bows back in a weird aborted motion. He doesn’t take off his shades, of course, but David is used to studying the minute muscles around his eyes, the lines of his neck to see him take in the restaurant’s decor.

It looks really cool. Super authentic Japanese, all exotic with black lacquer accents, paintings of ladies and mountains on scrolls looking Zen. Ceramic cats raising paws from every available shelf. They’re seated at a small booth framed with lucky bamboo, and the menu has actual Japanese writing on it. They’re served tea automatically.

Miller mutters something to the woman, and she responds with an odd smile.

David stares at him. “Do you speak Japanese?”

“Huh?” He’s frowning at the menu. “Oh, yeah, just a few words. I was stationed in Hawaii once. Lots of Japanese people there.”

“What’d you say to her?”

“Thank you. Arigato.”

“Arigato.”

“No, it’s - arigato.”

“Arigato. That’s what I said. So… did you ever eat Japanese food?”

“Not really.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Never said that.”

David leans back in his seat and flips up his menu to look at it. So now Master Miller’s the one being cagey. This stupid date was his idea, but now David thinks he’s going to have a good time. He’s not paying anyways. The waitress brings them free soup but no spoons, and David wonders if he should flag her down until Master Miller picks up the bowl and sips straight from it.

When in Rome, he guesses.

There’s plenty of raw fish, but also stuff like teriyaki, tempura which turns out to just be fritters. The sushi rolls sound tasty, and he’s pleased to see that they’re all pretty expensive too. The sake comes first and it’s actually good, as bizarre as it is to drink hot booze.

Miller has some trouble ordering. “Jesus, these are complicated. Five kinds of fish in one roll?”

“I’m gonna get that.”

“Your funeral, kid. I’ll have… hm.” Something on the entree list makes him pause. “I’ll have the…” he swallows something. “The curry.” He peers up at the waitress, looks like he’s about to say something before deciding against it.

“I don’t think it’ll be like Indian curry,” David warns him, and orders four kinds of rolls and a refill on the sake.

The food is pretty good. It’s not like David thought, but a little bland and in need of extra soy sauce. Miller’s curry is dark and doesn’t look like any curry David’s seen before, but he makes a pleased sound upon tasting. He peers at David’s sushi.

“Cream cheese. With salmon. How is that?”

“Just like a bagel. But with sweet rice and soy sauce. You want to try it?” David dunks the roll in soy sauce and holds it out to him with his chopsticks. Miller actually recoils, wrinkling his nose. No one that age should be so damn cute. “Hmm. You want to take it from my fingers instead?”

“Get that out of my face, Solid.”

Back to the codenames, then. David fits the whole thing in his mouth. Chews until it’s just mush in his mouth.

“Look, David. I brought you out here because I think we need to have a little chat about the nature of our relationship. It’s no secret I’ve given you special attention, but you've gotten the wrong idea. You're out of line, Solid. Maybe I haven't exactly discouraged you. Mistake on my part, and I apologize. But this ends now.”

Wow. He's trying to play the disappointed teacher now. “And taking me out on a date is supposed to fix that?”

“Jesus, kid. Hasn’t anyone ever been nice to you?”

“I think this is a date,” David declares. “And you’re too scared to admit it. Do you think I can’t keep a secret?”

“David - “

“It's not an abuse of power if I'm into it, right?"

"Oh, it absolutely is, kiddo."

Responsible mentor, bullshit. "I'm not a kid. What, would you lose your job if anyone found out? Because no one’s gonna.”

“David. It’s not going to happen.”

“You teased me.” David downs another cup of sake. “You weren’t trying to scare me off during that exercise, you were trying to turn me on. You can play coy and awkward, but I know damn well you’re not. And you said it first. We’re not on base. Not in the field. Right now, we’re just men.” He grins, because the Hellmaster actually looks flushed.

Master Miller takes a determined bite of curry. What’s he going to do, say he’s not interested?

“Is it because of Big Boss?”

“... _Solid_.”

“I told you. I’ve heard rumors. I almost never see you in the same room, not even at our first orientation. Why? Do your meetings only take place behind closed doors? What, is he going to flip out at you if he catches you cheating?”

“I have a wife, you know.”

“Does she make you happy?”

“You might want to hold off on that sake, kid. We’re fifteen miles away from base,” Master Miller says. He’s bright red now, but a slow grin is drawing across his face. “Quite a run ahead of you.”

“What -”

“Don't you worry about me. I’m finishing my curry, and I'm gonna pay the bill like I damn well said I would.”

“Master -”

“Shut the fuck up, Solid.”

David shuts up, and now he knows he’s the one blushing. Maybe he took it too far, but this is the biggest bullshit of his life. Every older man should want a lithe young side piece. David is perfect mid-life crisis material. He's young and horny and hot and the goddamn Hellmaster is playing hard to get. Superior officer blah blah blah, he’s just the fucking survival instructor.

David eats his sushi as fast as possible. He’s wearing - fuck, he’s wearing civvies. A tight turtleneck that looks good on him and denim that makes his ass look good because he’s a stupid fucking slutty kid. At least he’s got his Nikes on. He can do a fifteen mile run like this, sure.

But it’s Alaska and it’s cold and he’s - yeah, he's kind of drunk and his belly is stuffed with rice. He wasn't planning on leaving civilian mode tonight, he was planning on sucking Miller's dick in the back of his car. It’s going to be torture, and then it hits him. It'd be funny if David wasn't the butt of the joke.

They don’t call him the Hellmaster for nothing, do they?

**Author's Note:**

> y'know, there's something really heartwarming about being at a restaurant from your culture and everything is all americanized and tacky but there's that _one_ dish that just screams the motherland to you and lets you know exactly where the owners are from
> 
> oh and durant is a real dude, it's the black hawk down guy, sorry.


End file.
